


Free Space

by CanonCannon



Series: Miscommunication [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Acephobia (brief), Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Casual Sex, Fighting, Fingering, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Slut Shaming, Virgin Daryl Dixon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9088372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: They've been roommates for three years and he's never seen this particular mood before. “Somethin’ happen with, uh, Daniel?” He hates to even ask, but they’re friends, damn it. Maybe best friends. If that little ginger moron had pulled some shit, Daryl needs to man up and be there for Paul.Paul waves his hand dismissively. “We had sex right up through New Years Eve, then he asked to be my boyfriend… so I ended it. And then he yelled at me in front of a lot of people.”Christ. The pattern continues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for the "Free Space" square of Desus Holiday Bingo. I know the free space isn't literally a prompt but decided to do it anyway :-P
> 
> TW for slut shaming directed at Jesus. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

Daryl comes in after spending the morning babysitting Hershel, expecting to have a boring afternoon of laundry ahead of him. He also really needs to clean up before Paul returns—even once he takes care of his clothes, his neat freak roommate will bitch about the mud tracks, the dusting of cracker crumbs, and the streaks of rabbit blood he’s left around the trailer since Paul headed out the day after Christmas.

He’d thought he had two more days to clean, but he walks into their one-room trailer to find Paul sitting at the dirty table with his beanie in one hand and a glass in the other. The battered old trench coat is hanging on it's hook by the door but otherwise the scout is still in his mission clothes.

"Home early," Daryl grunts conversationally—and then he sees the bottle of whisky on the table. It’s the Glenlivet they’d found in some suburban shithole right after nearly dying together, fighting a herd that somehow got corralled into a cul-de-sac of McMansions they’d been looting.

Paul hasn't had much of the liquor, but the bottle has been opened. Absurd hurt strikes the hunter, flashing across his face then gone an instant later.

Still, Daryl can't help but say, "Thought we were savin' that for a special occasion."

"Yep. This is it." Paul pops his mouth on the plosive and grins broadly at Daryl, but his expression is off. Like someone made a perfect Jesus mask but fit it over some other guy's face—it's a close likeness, but there's something wrong in the layer underneath.

A dim alarm sounds in the back of Daryl’s mind.

"What's special about sittin’ in the trailer drinkin’ without me?” He yanks off his dirty boots at the door, wishing that he’d remembered to do so while the other man was away.

"Nothing at all." The scout laughs like he's just thought of the best joke ever, but all he says is, "I do lots of stuff without you. Nothing special about that."

Daryl shifts uncomfortably, eyes narrowing. They've been roommates for three years and he's never seen this particular mood before. “Somethin’ happen with, uh, Daniel?” He hates to even ask, but they’re friends, damn it. Maybe best friends. If that little ginger moron had pulled some shit, Daryl needs to man up and be there for Paul.

Paul waves his hand dismissively. “We had sex right up through New Years Eve, then he asked to be my boyfriend… so I ended it. And then he yelled at me in front of a lot of people.”

Christ. The pattern continues.

—

_First was Alex, the blond nurse at Hilltop. Built like a football player but pretty as a cheerleader. All through the war and for a few months afterwards, Alex and Paul had an on-again, off-again thing. As far as Daryl knows, it’s Paul’s longest relationship since the Turn, although the two men involved probably wouldn’t call it a relationship._

_Paul had been out scavenging when Alex showed up at their door with a box of the scout’s stuff. When Daryl answered instead, the nurse had snorted, “Seriously? Wow. Good luck with that, I guess,” and shoved the box into Daryl's arms. “Tell him his letter was complete bullshit.”_

—

“Truthfully, though, I don’t want to talk about Daniel.”

“‘Kay,” Daryl shrugs, relieved. He picks up a dish cloth and starts wiping at the rabbit blood on the counter.

“Carol told me an interesting story,” Paul says next, out of the blue. He’s watching Daryl intently, expression manic and mysterious, brimming with emotion yet giving away nothing.

"That why ya left the Kingdom early? A story?" Daryl bites his lip. "Thought ya were teachin’ the kids some of your tricks tomorrow.”

He doesn't think this, he knows it. Paul had been endearingly excited about the little class, talking his ear off about which knots were best to teach beginners and the advantages of starting such training young.

"Cancelled," the scout replies shortly. "Sorry if I'm interrupting something, coming home early like this. You got a hot date lined up?"

Daryl's ears turn red. He knows Paul doesn't mean it cruelly, but the tone, plus the fact that Daryl hasn’t had a hot date (or any dates at all) in the years that they've been friends... his roommate's obviously got his panties in a bunch today.

Dating is Paul's territory, not Daryl's. His self-deprecating snort says as much.

—

_Next in line after Alex was Kyrone, an older guy from the Sanctuary. It lasted a few months and seemed to be going well until Kyrone came to visit Paul at Hilltop for the first time._

_That’s when Paul learned that his boyfriend had beaten the shit out of Daryl while he was Negan’s prisoner. He only found out because the former Savior was trying to apologize, make it right._

_Even Daryl tried to convince Paul that the past didn’t matter. The guy had just been following orders._

_Paul told him to shut the hell up and practically dragged Kyrone out to the gate by his collar._

—

“Right, good,” Paul says, reaching for the bottle. He pours a glass of the deep amber liquid. “Anyway, it was quite a story. Carol didn’t even mind me cancelling on her afterwards.”

“Yeah, ok… look, what the hell’s up with you today?” Daryl frowns, chewing on his thumbnail, not giving a shit about Carol’s story. His roommate is pouring quite a lot of whisky into that glass. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Paul tilts his head up and smiles. Oh, he's definitely spitting mad. “No, you didn’t do anything, Daryl. You did nothing. Now drink that. All of it.” Daryl stares. It's about the equivalent of three shots. It's also not quite noon.

The scout persists, "Trust me, you’ll thank me later. I’m honestly being very nice to you right now.”

It doesn't seem like it, somehow, but Daryl trusts Paul more than anyone—he’s right up there with Carol and Rick.

So the hunter shoots the whisky.

—

_After Kyrone was Aaron._

_There was no reason on earth the recruiter needed Daryl’s permission to sleep with Paul, yet he’d basically sought it anyway._

_Don’t want to step on any toes, he had said. Not looking for anything serious. Still in too much pain after losing Eric in the war._

_Daryl had had to work hard to suppress his discomfort as he responded, “Shame, you two would be good together. Both got giant fuckin' brass balls.”_

_Aaron had given him a long, strange look._

_Supposedly they stopped fucking months ago, but Daryl thinks Aaron still has a go every now and then. It would explain the guilty looks he gets when he visits Alexandria. Aaron is too perceptive for his own good._

_Daryl could just ask. The recruiter is a terrible liar._

_He finds he doesn’t really want to know the answer, though._

—

“Just tell me what happened. You’re actin' nuttier than squirrel shit."

Usually Daryl can make Paul laugh by trotting out some of his old hillbilly expressions, but Paul doesn't react at all this time. He just says in a strained voice, "Oh, I'm tremendously happy right now, believe it or not. I wasn't lying when I said this is a special occasion. Now listen to me, this is important: no more liquor. I need you sober."

The hunter frowns but doesn't say anything.

"Speaking of which, you getting drunk off your ass was the big plot point of Carol’s story.” Paul meets his eyes, probing.

Daryl’s mind goes blank. He hadn't expected the story to be about him.

—

_Wes was next, however briefly._

_That had ended in a very public screaming match with Alex around dinnertime. Well, Alex had screamed; Paul had stood there taking it until the nurse finally walked away._

_As usual, Paul didn't talk about it with Daryl, except to say in a defiant voice, "Wes didn't tell me. You know that, right?"_

_That’s also about the time the older ladies at Hilltop began saying things like, “Bless his heart,” “He’s a sweet boy, really,” and (generally directed at Daryl), “He’ll settle down when he’s with the right man.”_

—

“First we had a hideously awkward chat about why my sex life always blows up in my face. Carol asked about some of the specific accusations Daniel shouted across the gazebo at me. Emotionally unavailable, using him as a substitute… the usual. All of it completely justified, in case you were wondering.”

The hunter quirks an eyebrow. He wasn’t wondering.

—

_Daniel was a recent find: young, handsome, and almost as capable a fighter as Hilltop’s own ninja warrior._

_Whenever he visited Hilltop he’d bound over to the trailer like an excited puppy, yet Paul never fucked him there, never asked Daryl to clear out. They’d disappear somewhere else instead._

\--

“Then she told me a story about your New Year’s Eve fiasco last year. King Ezekiel had a party. You didn't want to go so you and Carol got drunk together instead."

Sudden adrenaline courses through Daryl’s veins. It reminds him of the time Andrea shot him... the shock of the sound, the stinging hurt, the confusion pressing him into the tall grass.

Carol wouldn't have. She would never.

Paul continues, “She told me- she said you're in love with me.”

The betrayal knocks Daryl over, almost literally. It’s worse than that bullet because this time the aim is true.

His roommate—the guy who just found out Daryl's been perving over him for at least a year—reads the lay of the land in his face and asks icily, “Why. The fuck. Didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Shit. Daryl really doesn’t know how to step back from this cliff, because he sure as hell won’t be forgiven for the truth, which boils down to: Paul’s been living with a complete creep for three years.

What does his roommate expect to hear? That Daryl hasn’t been seething over every boyfriend, overjoyed when each one crashed and burned in Paul’s esteem? Hasn't been drooling during workouts, obsessing over making him smile, peeking out of the corner of his eye whenever the smaller man saunters around half-dressed?

He has. All that and worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about Paul and Aaron being good together is adapted from Alex in the comic books.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fighting... heavy on the dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for unhealthy attitudes towards sex.

Paul watches impassively as his roommate self-destructs.

The older man reaches for the Glenlivet as if by instinct. Paul snatches it away. Right afterwards Daryl goes to stand, but the scout stops him with a deceptively soft, “If you move your ass from that chair, Dixon, I swear to God…”

So Daryl simply stares at the ground, immobile in their rickety kitchen chair.

Paul lets him stew for a bit before saying blandly, "You can smoke if you want.” He pulls his hair into a bun with the hair tie on his wrist. This is going to take awhile, but he’s had the whole trip from the Kingdom to think about how he wants their conversation to go. He can be patient.

“Supposed to be quittin',” the hunter croaks. “Ya don’t like it.”

For several more minutes they sit at the table, tension swirling between them. Finally Daryl tries, tentatively and far too late to be convincing, ”It was a year ago.”

Paul’s eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t think I’ll forgive you if you lie to me right now,” he replies quietly.

”I’ll- I’ll move. Back to Alexandria,” Daryl says.

Paul balls his fist; of all things, he hadn't expected cowardice from Daryl Dixon. “So, run and hide?” he asks. Then he says in the exact same contemptuous tone, “Are you even going to ask if I feel the same way?”

Daryl has the gall to look hopeful and it pisses Paul right the fuck off. Still, the scout continues, “I do. And it’s a miracle one of us didn’t die before you dug your head out of your ass. As it is, Carol had to excavate it for us.”

The hopeful expression morphs into intense relief. Daryl's entire posture shifts. Before he was slouched back, avoidant; now he’s leaning over the table, energized, ready to engage. A big part of Paul wants to crush that hope, rip that relief away. He already knows he won’t, though, because like it or not, he’s in love with this hopelessly backwards redneck who has wasted so much of their time.

“Really?” Daryl whispers in a very crushable voice. Paul grits his teeth, resisting. “Ya… ya didn’t say anythin’ neither. When-”

Yep, the scout is really, really angry about the time they've wasted, and now he’s also really, really angry about Daryl’s wounded tone—as if Paul’s the one who kept them apart by concealing _really important information_  for three years. “Shut up. Just- no. Do you want me to count the ways that that's different? I’ve never been subtle, never hid who I am. You knew I was gay. You knew I was interested in relationships, in sex-”

“What, ya thought I was some kinda freak? Like I wasn’t into… into that stuff?” Daryl spits defensively, glaring.

The scout deflates a bit, thinking, _Christ, we're both so messed up_. “Daryl, that wouldn’t make you a freak, if you don’t like the- the physical side of relationships,” he says, gentler.

— 

“Yeah, well, I like it fine.” It’s a guess, but based on how much he’s masturbated in the last three years, Daryl has to assume he’d like the real thing, too, so long as it’s with Paul. His spunk has wreaked havoc on their shower’s ability to drain properly. “Not as much as you... with everyone who ain’t me, anyhow.”

Pulling the pin like that, Daryl has no choice but to brace himself and wait for the grenade to explode.

“What did you just say?”

Paul looks murderous enough to make Daryl back down, and quick. “Ya flirt with everyone. Old people. Women.”

“Nice save,” the scout replies with electrifying sarcasm. There’s a faint vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Alright, sunshine, if ya want to talk about it: why the hell would I think ya liked me when ya been sleepin’ around, fuckin’ every gay dude left alive?” Daryl rises, chair falling back behind him as he shoots to his feet. He can hardly believe he dared to say it and half expects a ninja-kick to the gut in response.

Paul stands as well, getting right up into Daryl’s face. “Oh, I got some straight ones, too. Lots of guys’ll take a blowjob when there are no strings attached.” The older man winces, feels himself flush crimson as the other man continues, “You don’t get to be a dick about my sex life, Daryl. I did what I did so I’d be able to live with you without losing my mind, because I didn’t know you were just some goddamn closet case!” His voice softens, only a little, when he adds, “I thought you weren't interested. I was trying to respect that. You were the only one that mattered, and I figured being roommates, friends, was the best I could do.”

They’re standing very close together, Paul’s bare feet right between Daryl’s gigantic socked ones. The taller man stares into bright green eyes for several uncomfortable seconds before looking away and giving a curt nod. He can smell Paul’s sweat and the faint odor of the horse he rode home from the Kingdom, and suddenly he’s dizzy with it.

Daryl feels as if the silence is pressing into his ears, drilling for his brain. “Ok, that's settled, can we get shitfaced now?” he begs, trying to make it sound like a joke even though he’s deadly serious. His body is tingling just about everywhere. He’s never had a more uncomfortable conversation in his life.

But Paul shakes his head gravely. “Nope. No, I have three years of sexual tension to burn off on your ass. I need you completely present and accounted for up here,” he snaps, tapping the hunter in the middle of his forehead.

Daryl bites his tongue hard, almost drawing blood. _Not gonna die a virgin after all_ , he realizes, _and wait, what was that about my ass?_

That’s all he has time to think before Paul is on him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to get drunk to even post this.

Paul herds Daryl to his bed, catching him when he nearly trips over the rug. Passion has completely derailed the long, healthy, emotionally mature conversation the scout had planned to have, because fuck all of that. He’s waited long enough for this stubborn son of a bitch.

When his best friend (boyfriend?) settles with his feet flat on the bed, knees raised, Paul pushes himself between them. The hunter’s cock stiffens in mere moments against him. At the feeling, blood rushes south through the scout’s body as well. He promises himself that he’ll make Daryl talk more later, maybe tomorrow. For now, though…

“Say yes,” Paul growls, eyes boring into Daryl’s slitted ones.

“Huh?”

“Say yes,” he repeats, heart pounding, concentration fixed on gray-blue eyes. Daryl is beautiful like this: dazed, breathing heavily, a bit shell-shocked. Paul kisses him aggressively, hardly even registering the fact that it's their first kiss, then he slides lower and sucks a bruise onto the side of the other man’s neck.

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl yelps, much higher-pitched than expected. The hunter holds his sculpted arms rigid on either side, fingers twisting in the sheets.

Flattening out onto his stomach, Paul nibbles near the bruise softly as Daryl's hips start to move in a dirty slide against his abs. The position doesn’t give the smaller man much friction but he doesn’t give a shit just yet. Dropping down further, keeping his body low so the movement would rub his stomach along Daryl's erect dick, Paul laps at the man's pebbled nipples through his thin white shirt.

Daryl swears, sounding panicked and slamming a palm over his mouth a second later.

Smirking, Paul finds the hem of that soft t-shirt and pushes up, palms skating over heated skin, and pulls the garment off, using the gesture to press Daryl’s raised wrists up into the pillow. “Keep these here,” he rasps, just to see if the older man will obey. He knows he's onto something when Daryl lets out a breath with a low grunt. It’s good information for further down the line.

Paul returns his lips back where he wants them, without cotton in the way. Beneath him, Daryl's back arches desperately, then he starts grinding upwards shamelessly. The man is losing himself already, with just some soft suction to those small pink nubs.

"Paul," Daryl says urgently. The smaller man has enough willpower left to pause, but Daryl just grinds harder, building a rhythm, and repeats, " _Paul._ ”

“Yeah?"

Paul’s not leaving the sensitive, reddening nipples alone just yet. Hearing Daryl try to talk while he plays with them is his new favorite thing. He sucks a bit more as the older man stutters, “I don’t, I- oh, _hell_. Been tryin' not to, not to think about this..."

Those wasted years are still a sore spot but even so, Paul briefly considers asking questions, seeing how many naughty details he can wrangle out of the shy man about those thoughts. Unfortunately he doubts Daryl would enjoy pushing himself through any dirty talk, since it is, after all, a form of talking.

Dirty talk should be just fine the other way around, though.

—

Daryl’s mind is a cyclone. He has another person on top of him, a surprisingly heavy weight, and for the first time ever that weight is neither a walker nor some asshole trying to punch, restrain, or kill him.

He’s too worked up to analyze the blissful terror of it all. His focus is claimed completely by two all-important thoughts: he needs to stop making humiliating noises and he needs to not come too soon.

Then Paul starts to talk, and controlling himself is suddenly a hell of a lot more difficult.

“From now on, I want you to think about it," the younger man says, voice gravelly. “I want you to be in the middle of a hunt and get distracted, get turned on thinking about blowing me against a tree. Want you to be so hard the whole walk home that you drop straight to your knees the second you see me. I- I want you to dream about me, have to get yourself off in the morning because you can’t calm down, because you dreamt about bending me over and fucking me.”

Those words coming out of that innocent-looking mouth—fuck. Daryl has been blushing since the little pervert got started. He’s also been dribbling precome into his boxers.

And Paul’s not done, either. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I think about it, too. Think about what you would like, what you might let me do to you if I asked nicely." The smaller man pauses and glances up to where Daryl’s hands are holding the headboard. “Or maybe I'd make you ask nicely… have you beg me to touch you, get my permission before you come.”

Daryl makes a shocked sort of noise and his legs fall open, his hips pressing towards the slim body above him. Then there’s a cock slipping against the crack of his ass and all Daryl can do is moan like a whore, all restraint gone.

Paul grins, the bastard, teeth flashing. His hair is still in a knot behind his head but strands have escaped the tie, making him look a bit wild. He pulls back enough to look into Daryl's face. “Oh God, Daryl, would you?”

Daryl nods, feeling like he's been hit by a truck. He has no clue what he’s agreed to until Paul lifts up and reaches towards his bedside table.

In all the time he’s spent touching himself in their shower, anal sex hasn’t really featured much in Daryl’s imagination. Now that Paul’s tossing two condoms and a small tube onto the bed, though, he figures he needs to get with the program real quick.

Paul’s been moving pretty damn quick this whole time, and once he’s got the supplies out he’s yanking off clothes like a kid opening presents at Christmas. He tugs Daryl’s pants, boxers, and socks off in about two seconds flat, and the hunter has to force himself not to think about how practiced it all is. In a blink Paul’s own sleeveless shirt, cargo pants, and gray boxer briefs are gone, leaving Daryl naked in bed with someone else for the first time in his life—not just anyone, either, but the handsome, perfect, kind man he’s been in love with for almost three years.

That’s the moment when it occurs to Daryl that most of Paul’s recent partners were actually good at being gay and probably loved anal, God damn them.

“Turn over,” the scout demands, hands moving to Daryl’s hips to guide him into place. Daryl is grateful for the change because he’s blushing deeply all of a sudden, wondering in the back of his mind why anyone finds this particular act sexy. He can hear an echo of Merle’s voice asking if he’s really going to take it up the ass, become Paul’s bitch.

 _Yes,_ Daryl thinks fiercely at his brother’s ghost, waiting for Paul to touch him.

The first presses of those small, delicate fingers are just fucking weird, but he knows the basics of how this works and he knows Paul will be careful with him. He just has to swallow down his discomfort. It’s about the most humiliating position he can imagine, and Paul begging him to relax does not help one bit. He’s acutely aware that his ugly scars are on full display.

Once there’s a finger entirely inside him, Daryl can’t stop squirming. When the second finger enters and bends as it stretches him Daryl _howls_ , the small flashes of pain fading into a glow of pleasure he hadn’t expected at all. His dick starts firming up again and he buries his face in a pillow that smells overwhelmingly like Paul’s shampoo, ashamed of how good it all feels.

“I’ve imagined this so many different ways, and somehow you're better than all of them,” the younger man gasps, sounding utterly worshipful. Daryl wonders how Paul says shit like that, if the guy thinks he’s in a movie or something.

—

Daryl is gorgeous, but he’s also skittish and tense.

“You’re... you're really tight,” Paul husks after several long minutes of working his fingers. The idea of pushing into that grasping heat makes his dick twitch, but there’s no way he’s getting started until he’s sure it will be good for both of them.

“M’sorry,” Daryl whispers, strangled.

“Don't apologize!”

“’Kay. Does it get, um… how long do ya wait before… I mean, how do ya know when I’m, uh, ready?”

In an instant Paul’s body stops moving, up to and including his heart and lungs. He gently pulls his fingers away, hissing in disbelief, “Oh, God. You haven’t done this before.”

He sees Daryl go rigid below him, staying on his front but sinking into the bed a bit. “Uh… nah. Haven’t. Sorry.”

Paul scrunches his eyes shut, wondering how he manages to screw up with this man at every turn. “When you say ‘haven’t,’ do you mean…”

There’s a long moment of silence before Daryl says into the pillow, “I’ve kissed people.”

 _In an alternate universe, a smarter Paul Rovia is sitting at the table talking about his fucking feelings right now_ , the scout thinks to himself, because while he couldn’t have predicted that Daryl was still a virgin—Christ fucking wept—he absolutely should have known better than to try to top the man like this immediately out of the gate.

He’s still trying to think what to say when Daryl murmurs a third, very small, “M’sorry.” 

It kicks Paul into gear. Time for damage control. “Love, I need you to stop apologizing to me. Please. I can’t even- are you ok? Do you like it ok so far?”

“Yeah, s’good. Weird-good, but, uh, good,” Daryl stutters out. “Ya can do it now if ya want.”

Paul elects not to answer that, but after a brief hesitation he does pull the older man back onto his knees and pushes his fingers into Daryl's waiting hole, gentle gentle gentle, angling them perfectly. He’d been pulling his punches before, knowing Daryl was getting close, but now he gives the hunter exactly what his body wants, nudging his prostate over and over with steady slides.

They need to talk, but that’s not going to go well while Daryl is feeling vulnerable and horny.

Soon enough Daryl continues with the steady stream of soft yelps, whimpers, and harsh breathing he began almost as soon as Paul's fingers entered him. It’s the middle of the day and anyone could hear them, but Paul doesn’t care; he loves the confused, ecstatic shout he gets when he reaches a hand to the other man’s cock. Daryl shouts again a few strokes later as he begins to come across Paul's hand and the comforter, ass clenching tighter as he hides his face away. The older man shakes for what feels like minutes, collapsing flat afterwards.

Paul follows him down and kisses his shoulder, tangling his come-covered hand with Daryl’s on the mattress. He closes his eyes so he won’t have to look at the hunter’s sexy back, or his incredible arms, or his tousled hair, or his gorgeous ass, because he knows he's not going to be getting off any time soon.

They’re going to have a long conversation before they go any further, damn it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems like an abrupt ending but it's what I had planned from the start. Might revisit someday so poor Paul gets some relief.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also at canoncannon.tumblr.com <3


End file.
